Search This Blog

Friday, October 28, 2016

I’ve had this nudging in my heart for several months and I feel like I need to act on it now.

Can I speak kind to my husband for 30 days?

It’s not that I speak unkind to him. We have a very loving relationship, but the thing is I can be sassy. I can be easily offended and quick to react. I have time for everything else, but often not for him.

This morning, my husband kindly said to me, “Honey, you’re so beautiful.”

I hadn’t combed my hair yet. I was wearing a baggy dress that fit me during my 9-month of pregnancy, and our baby is one. I was in a rush to get the kids off to school, but this comment made me pause. My precious husband still takes me breath away.

“How many times have you said this to me?” I asked as he took me in his arms, although I probably knew the answer better than him.

Definitely thousands, maybe tens of thousands? How many times have I believed him? Maybe never.

“Not enough,” he answered.

You see what I’m up against. This man is a good man, a great man. If Derek and I were in a kindness game, where the points were kept on a scoreboard, he would be winning by at least 1,000 points I just can’t keep up with him. He’s sooo good at being kind!

My prayer is 30 days of kindness will help me change and will empower me as a woman and as a wife. This experience will not suppress my opinion (yeah, like that would ever happen), but inspire me to speak more positively and express myself to my husband with more patience and love. I’m also hoping I will be able to take his praise, his compliments and his love and finally believe in him, in us, with all of my heart.

This will not be easy for me. I’m built a certain way. When I’ve had a difficult day, I tend to vent. When the house is messy, I tend to blame. When I’m tired, I get grouchy.

What will it take for me to be more in control of my feelings, my reactions and my surroundings?

Commitment. Prayer. Faith. Love. Encouragement.

Do you want to try this with me?

Remember, a righteous woman will stand up for herself. I would never want anyone in an abusive relationship to submit themselves to their husband, but if you can relate to what I’m saying – in other words if you are sassy too, do you want to try this with me? I know my husband is not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. I want to celebrate him with all my heart.

Today is October 28. This 30-day challenge will take me through Thanksgiving, which I can already feel will make for a very powerful Thanksgiving. I am grateful for my husband. The last day of the challenge will be Sunday, November 27, then we can all go back to being sassy and headstrong (just kidding)!

I’ve started a facebook page called 30 Days of Kindness to my Husband. I want all of those who attempt this nearly impossible, but God-worthy goal to share encouragement, suggestions, personal growth, challenges, photos and so forth. My man deserves this and so do I. I want to be my best self and for me, it starts in my marriage relationship and it starts now.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

My parents have moved to London for six months. You can read about that here. I should be fine, right. I have a loving husband, six amazing children, brothers and sisters, amazing in-laws and friends, but lately, I’ve noticed something is missing. It’s quality time with my mom.

There’s a tiny hole in my heart. It reminds me my mom is not here.

If I acknowledge it, I can feel it grow weepy, even pitiful, but I’m trying to move on, stay busy, share love, see the big picture so I can move past this tiny hole before it grows too big.

My mom and I text and we’ve talked a few times on the phone. When she calls, it’s like a dam releases in my heart. I tell her my goals, my dreams, my experiences and she lovingly listens, encourages, oooohs and aaaahs at my ideas, reminds me I have special things to do with my life and that I am her “little humanitarian,” a term I hold dear to my heart. The first time my mom called me a humanitarian, I felt like I’d been given a noble calling.

My mom has spent her life searching and manifesting for ways to feel God.

My mom with my daughter Eden in 2002.

She’s a mother, one of the most beautiful paths to feeling God’s presence I can think of. She’s a wife, nurturing a commitment of love that will last an eternity. She’s a writer, a deep thinker, one who asks questions and finds ways to answer them. She’s also a doer. Even against the odds, she follows her heart. Here is one such example:

In 1997, my mom had an impression she should go to WashingtonD.C. during the partial birth abortion hearings, following which Congress would vote regarding the legality of this horrendous “medical procedure.”

Partial birth abortion was a new term, although not a new procedure. The public was not aware that these types of abortions were taking place, let alone legal. Many in Congress wanted to ban this “frankensteinian” procedure.

Partial birth abortion takes place when a woman is in her third trimester and the baby is viable. In other words, the baby could be born premature and survive, but is aborted before taking its ﬁrst breath. The mother is fully dilated, the baby’s head crowns when the abortion doctor inserts a sharp scissor-like instrument through the soft spot into the infant’s brain, killing the baby before it ever has a chance to let out its ﬁrst cry. As long as the baby has a foot still inside the mother, “it is not born” and the procedure is legal. If the baby is outside the mother, the procedure is murder.

In 1997, my parents were struggling financially, but with careful budgeting, my mom found a way to pay for the ﬂight. She knew this wasn’t a time to sit and watch history take place around her. She needed to be bold and she would do it. She wanted to share with law makers on Capitol Hill her books on prebirth studies, providing solid evidence that unborn children are alive. She contacted her Congressman, with whom she was acquainted, and told him she wanted to share her research, with him and others. He was familiar with her books, particularly Coming From The Light (Simon & Schuster) and agreed that it was a good idea.

She scheduled her trip and once in D.C., stood in line until she was ﬁnally allowed entry to listen to the debates by United States Congressmen and Senators. Standing in line, there were people around her screaming and yelling, “Don’t stop partial birth abortion. It is a women’s right to choose.” She remembered thinking, “It feels like a hole has been punched in the wall of hell and these people came out to ﬁght for the right to kill innocent children.”

Once inside the building, she saw one of the most valiant of all warriors for the unborn, Henry Hyde, a U.S Senator from Illinois. He walked past her, not knowing who she was. She handed him a card she had prepared before leaving home with a quote she had written down that he had previously said, to perhaps use in her talk:

When the time comes as it surely will, when we face that terrible moment, the ﬁnal judgment, I’ve often thought as Cardinal Fulton Sheen wrote, that it is a terrible moment of loneliness. You have no advocates there, you are there alone standing before God, and a terror will rip your soul like nothing you can imagine. [By contrast], I really think that those in the pro-life movement will not be alone. I think there will be a chorus of voices that have never been heard in this world but are heard very beautifully and very loudly in the next world and I think they will plead for everyone who has been in the [pro-life] movement.

They [the aborted] will say to God, “Spare them, because they loved us.” And God will look at us and ask not, “Did you succeed?” but “Did you try?”

Henry Hyde, a mighty and valiant voice, spoke eloquently and emotionally about why partial-birth abortion should be outlawed. People in the audience were moved to tears. Voting wouldn’t take place for days, so my mom walked the halls of the congressional building, hoping to speak with anyone she could inﬂuence. She stopped Rick Santorum and handed him her book. He thanked her for what she was doing and explained, “My wife wrote a book about our baby that died and what that baby taught us about the sanctity of life.”

My
mom handed out at least ﬁfty books that day, mostly to interns who worked for
congressmen and senators. Her congressman arranged for her to speak
at a caucus meeting in which researchers like her could share their latest
ﬁndings. Reality set in, but she found courage in the right to life messages of
others who had spoken earlier. Several congressmen sent their aides and she
spoke to a group of people in a room in theRayburnBuildingon Capitol Hill.

Who does this? Can you imagine the courage, the gumption, the determination to not only travel across the country, but into the heart of our nation’s capital, not knowing where you’re journey will take you, only hoping something good will come from it. When my mom and I wrote her biography The Memory Catcher, I started to understand the enormous capacity of her character.

In 1997, banning partial-birth abortion passed by congressional vote, but Bill Clinton vetoed it. Partial-birth abortion was still legal. It was a sad reality. I remember that day, asking my mom what she would do now that she’d lost. Would she still be the researcher of the unborn? Would she still write about prebirth studies? Was there any hope for those children facing abortion? I’ll never forget what she said. With optimism and personal conviction, she said, “Oh, Laura, all is well. We may not be able to change the laws, but we can change hearts.”

My mom set the way for not only many children who’s lives have been saved, but for me.

This is my mom: activist, researcher, believer and most importantly, she’s one who makes it happen. You think of all the fanfare people expect. The applause, the standing ovation, worldly success – my mom only wanted to help a baby. There's not much to criticize about that. You see, she’s had a miscarriage before she ever started writing about the unborn. Losing this baby and later having a dream about that baby made her ask the question, “Where are our children before they are born?” With this experience, her life’s mission was born.

Here she is 30 years later speaking at the United Nations.

I don’t think I’d be on this path if my mom had not moved to London. If she still lived down the street, I’d be skipping my way over there for lively conversation and the party atmosphere her and I always create when we are together. My mom is fun and even when we are serious, there is a party going on. But with her gone, our relationship has changed. It has matured. Memories mean so much. Subconsciously, I’m searching for her in my everyday purpose and life calling. Her example is something I want to emulate, even if just for a moment to feel her near. Her accomplishments have become magnified. Because I helped her write her memoir, I am a scholar of her work. I see this influence in my life and want it to grow. What talents do I have that can help? What talents can I develop to carry her tradition on? Saving the unborn is part of my heritage and I beg your pardon, as I take a giant step over political correctness and find my way.

Partial birth abortion was banned in 2003 by President Bush, but the controversy lives on, because in late-term abortions, this barbaric procedure and similar tactics still take place today.

In my book Starving Girl - My 30-day Experience with the Miracle of Intermittent Fasting and Prayer, I reflect on being raised by an activist mom, facing the reality of abortion after I was sexually abused, and learning how food addiction and negative body image was a cover up for shame and hurt.

My mom's book The Castaways is celebrating 15 years. You see, it didn't take long for my mom to ask the question, "What happens to the soul of an aborted child?" Through compelling evidence and research, she attempts to answer that question.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

As so many of you out there, I feel everything. I feel so many sensations running through my body, my heart, my mind that some days I have to do “inventory” to understand what’s going on. Since fasting, feeling has turned into healing. Because I’m not filling my body with food, my feelings are not suppressed or “stuffed.” The break from food allows my spirit, which is much stronger and healthier than my body, to become more present then my flesh and through the light of God, I can not only balance out, but rise to a higher degree of love and healing. Sounds pretty new-age-ish, but it’s just a beautiful thing that comes with fasting.

When I was a teenager and into my early twenties, this “gift” of feeling everything could be depilating. After I was sexually abused, something vulnerable in me awoke and it seemed to attract dysfunctional men. I couldn’t catch a break. Either I didn’t believe I was worth more or the men I was attracting into my life had some sort of ability to read I was weak. I didn’t have the self-esteem or strength to defend myself. I started having panic attacks, painful periods of time when my heart couldn’t carry my hurt. Rapid heartbeats, inability to breath, panting, crying, fainting – all in an attempt to maintain and hold myself together as my world was falling apart. My mom was the only one who could pull me out of such experiences. Her understanding, soft tone, encouragement, physical touch – it all helped me come back. I had my last panic attack at the age of 26. Thankfully, marrying my sweetheart was a strong influence of love and my body didn’t respond to stress anymore in the form of panic attacks.

I know so many girls and women have and have had panic attacks. 1 out of 3 of us have been sexually abused. I want to find you, to find others and not just heal, but shine.

What was I feeling before I started intermittent fasting? After all, I’d been married for over 17 years, had six children and lived a dream life. Yes, life was good, better than good and with all the love surrounding me, I’d worked through so many of my issues and feelings, but I still carried shame and regret. With all that was on my plate, I couldn’t handle these emotions anymore. Why was I still hiding from hurt? Negativity? Procrastination? Unmet expectations? I was suffocating. Either they had to go, or I was going to break from the weight of it all.

While fasting, I have major breakthroughs specific to my emotional challenges, I mean life-changing ideas and experiences that placed me on a path to higher love and purpose. Just a few weeks ago, I had an experience were I learned the amazing power of repentance. I’ve known about repentance my entire life, but rarely acted on it. The bigger truth of asking God every day to be forgiven of my sins has helped with me be more sympathetic to others, learn from my own mistakes and recognize the addictions I still have to break in my life. Repentance lifts my emotional load and frees me from negativity. Still, I’m stubborn. Even with all I’m learning, I’ll forget or don’t make this task a priority some days. The flesh is so stubborn.

During my first 30-day fast (you can read about this experience in my memoir (Starving Girl), I had an experience one night. I was driving one of my son’s home from basketball practice and I stopped to get something to eat. I hadn’t broken my fast yet, so I had a prayer in the car, then went into Pei Wei for some lettuce wraps and edamame. Once back in the car, I reached for the package of edamame. I put that salty warm soybean pod in my mouth, bit it open and the flavor of the soybean electrified my palate. Food is delicious, but after an 18 hour fast, food is explosive. Those first few bites meant everything. They provided the nourishment I needed and I was not only delighted, but so very grateful. So very thankful was I, so amazing was the taste, with my sweet son in the back seat sharing all the fun things about his day, my car that worked every time I start it up, the love from my family, my clarity of thought, when I heard in my mind “Well, look at you. You’re doing it.” (This happens a lot to me. The Spirit continues to give me so much encouragement.)

I was. I was doing it. Fasting was helping me tackle so many of my emotions, I was present, my health was improving, plus I was losing weight. My heart almost burst, and suddenly, I thought of those awful panic attacks. All those years ago when all hope seemed lost, how I would rather die than endure any more pain, how it was so difficult to breathe I would pass out.

But, no, at this moment, breaking my fast with the wonderful food, this wasn’t a panic attack. Yes, my heart beat was increasing, yes I felt like I might cry, yes, I was overcome, but what I was experiencing was my first a joy attack.

So powerful was my joy. I imagined a line on one end of the spectrum a panic attack and on the polar opposite end, a joy attack. Oh, this was big. I needed my mom. This was too much emotion. I started deep breathing. I couldn’t have a “joy attack.” I was driving. I couldn’t fall apart because I was “so happy.” As wonderful as it was, I had to control this or my eyes would fill and become blurred with tears. In my mind, I started talking to my mom. I envisioned her holding me, but my love for her made my “joy attack” even stronger. I had to block the image of my mom or at that moment, her love would overcome me.

“Breath deep,” I said to myself. “Everything’s fine.”

If it hadn’t been so overwhelming, it would have been funny. I mean really, who has a “joy attack” when eating edamame. But, seriously, a clean physical palate means emotional and spiritual experiences finally have room in my life to manifest.

I did get a hold of my mom and she told me, “Tell your joy it can come in smaller doses or we can get together and you can invite it back while we are holding each other.” My mom, she’s so awesome. She validates everything in my life. To her, I’m never weird.

Joy is an emotion I feel more and more. Swimming with ducks in Sedona 2016

If you have panic attacks, please know you can breathe and heal and overcome, but you have to feel. You have to be validated by yourself. Don’t be afraid. It takes time and work. Believe, hope, remember your worth and pray. Let your spirit (also known as your soul) shine, God is there. He will heal you. I know He can and will.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

The counselor has been so supportive while I’ve been fasting and writing about my experience. Where would I be without him?

When we were in Sedona in August, we spent some time writing down our goals. I love doing this with him.

“When are you going to publish your book?” he asked.

Oh, yeah, that little old thing!

Here I am in Sedona thrifting at Goodwill.

I wrote Starving Girl in 30 days and spent months editing it.

There was a time, around the 5-month mark when I put the darn thing away. I didn’t want anything to do with it. Writing a memoir was hard, emotional, VULNERABLE! I'd much rather be spending time with this little guy.

Crazy dog!

I loved fasting and I wrote about the ups and downs, the challenges and benefits, how I felt and managed 16-hours a day without food, but my experience was about so much more than fasting. My mind was so clear and focused and writing became a necessary function. Not only did writing helped the hours pass when I was hungry, but it allowed me to binge on my ideas. These were personal ideas I’d never shared with anybody. Fasting was not about food or dieting, but how my negative body image and food addiction hurt me. I started asking questions about women and how we compare ourselves to all the perfect photo-shopped images the media presents to us. Once I started down that path, I realized how sexual abuse played a huge role in my weight gain and how I had been running away from shame. I learned how overeating affected my mood and my relationships. Intermittent fasting was about hunger management and thinking of those who went without. It was about learning to be grateful and living in the present, not the past or future. My mind opened up in ways I’ve never experienced. As I studied more about intermittent fasting, I realized this was not by mistake. Increased brain function is one of the many benefits of fasting.

Leading scientists now believe that intermittent fasting is one of the key strategies for maximizing brain function. Click here to learn more.

According to neuroscientists, Fasting does good things for the brain, and this is evident by all of the beneficial neurochemical changes that happen in the brain when we fast. It also improves cognitive function, increases neurotrophic factors, increases stress resistance, and reduces inflammation.

Fasting is a challenge to your brain, and your brain responds to that challenge by adapting stress response pathways which help your brain cope with stress and risk for disease. The same changes that occur in the brain during fasting mimic the changes that occur with regular exercise. They both increase the production of protein in the brain (neurotrophic factors), which in turn promotes the growth of neurons, the connection between neurons, and the strength of synapses. Click here to read more.

So, when I was writing about intermittent fasting and I had a clarity of mind like never before in which my thoughts were going a million miles a minute and I could articulate them in meaningful ways, this was not by mistake. This was a major benefit of fasting. I was remembering things, writing specific details, I didn’t get headaches like I had before intermittent fasting, I was remembering to pray every day, I could focus and meditate, research and brainstorm, I could go hours without the interruption of meals and snacks, I was focused and my writing became a channel of deep thought and healing.

I came across this quote, and it affected me deeply.

I could be vulnerable. I could do it! I was starving for more than food, I was starving to live my purpose. I was starving to love, learn, heal, help, serve, give, dream and more.

I’ve read and edited Starving Girl countless times, but once the counselor and I set that goal to publish the book on my birthday September 24, I became determined to get the job done. I wasn’t going to edit Starving Girl forever, like I’d been doing with my other books I’d written. I was going to take that leap of faith, the plunge, put myself out there and whatever happened, I would be alright. It was going to be finished by my birthday, and that was that.

I met with my editor the evening of my birthday and she said we were close, but she had a few more suggestions. I came home and worked through the night, into the next day and for the next week like crazy. Everything was on hold. The kids helped out more and encouraged me in the kindest ways. My friends helped with the baby. The counselor and I gave up date night, I didn’t exercise for the entire week, I don’t even know if I looked up, but a week later, it was ready. One more final professional edit for typo’s, a new cover was finished and BAM! it was up.

I’ve never been more determined. By far, it's the best thing I’ve ever written.

If I wouldn’t have set that goal with my darling, I’m not sure if I would have ever published it. Thank you to my honey for encouraging me.

Here we are in Telluride last week. I love this man!

Book trailers are so much fun to make. Here's mine.

Starving Girl is available on Amazonand Kindle. I’m working on the audio book as well.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Two weeks ago, I attended the American Night Writers Association (ANWA) annual writer’s conference in Tempe, AZ. Many of these women I’ve known for years and years and love them like sisters. The president Deb Eaton is a world-class hugger and confidence builder. Her talents and commitment have grown ANWA into a movement of writers who are changing the world.

I attended the first workshops of the morning,

(This was one of my favorite quotes from the conference: You can not please everybody, you are not pizza. Thank you Anika Arrington for your great class.)

and after visiting with several author friends, walked in late to lunch. The room was packed, with several hundred people there. I scanned the ballroom for an empty chair, but every seat was full. Near the back of the room, I saw a few empty seats, but as I neared them noticed the table had a Reserved sign. At the table were the New York Times best-selling authors, literary agents and publishing editors. Since I am not any of those things, I continued looking for another seat. Alas, I found another table with two empty seats and as I approached the table, I noticed it too had a Reserved sign, but it was too late. One of the women at the table had grabbed my hand and offered me a chair. I explained to her I was not assigned to sit at the reserved tables, but she insisted. “We’re all here and you need a seat, so join us.”

I looked around the table and recognized many faces. I introduced myself to the Patricia Nelson, the literary agent who’d been so kind to offer me a seat and got to know her. My friend Aprilynne Pike was also seated next to me, so we caught up on how our kids are doing and her latest projects.

I was good, better than good. This was amazing, the event had already far exceeded my expectations. My "You had me at hello" moment had happened. I was on cloud nine. Nothing could top this

Lunch was served, the energy in the room was exciting. It was full of creativity and hard work. Everybody in there had a dream and somewhere along the way, it was written down in a novel, nonfiction or memoir. Writers really are the best group of people. Gracious, educated, self-starters, they don’t give up, persistent, visionary, helpful, encouraging, understanding—really, I could go on and on. These people are superstars.

I had an appointment with a publisher who was in attendance at the conference, so I was just about to leave when the founder of ANWA, Marsha Ward was recognized for her 30 years of service. You see, it had been 30 years of ANWA and Marsha Ward is the founder. Her story goes like this:

Over 30 years ago, she was looking to join a writers group. She called the Mesa Public Library and asked if they offered such. They did, so Marsha attended. Problem was, while listening to other writers works, she had to listen to explicit scenes and vulgar language. As a Christian woman and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the Mormons), Marsha just couldn’t stomach it. In her own words, she said “I felt like my ears might burn off.”

She turned to God in prayer and felt impressed to start a writing group for Mormon women, where she would be surrounded by people who had the same high standards of clean language and G or PG-rated story-telling. She put an ad in the local Mormon Newspaper called The Beehive and low and behold, my mom author Sarah Hinze saw the ad, called Marsha and asked if she could join.

At the time, the group was called Arizona Night Writers Association, but it has grown nationally, so Marsha changed to American Night Writers Association. Why night? Let’s face it, most women are either moms or working full-time, so the majority of our writing gets done when everyone is sleeping and the house is nice and quiet.

So, like I was saying I was just about to leave lunch early, when Marsha walked up on stage. I’d known Marsha since I was a teenager, so I stayed in my seat to hear her keynote address. In our group, she’s like the Maya Angelou.

Marsha and I

“I started ANWA with two people,” she said. “Sarah Hinze and Peggy Hatch.”

I heard my mom’s name. I knew my mom had been a member of ANWA every since I could remember, but I didn’t know she had been one of the first three members.

“Sarah is on a mission in London, but her daughter Laura is here, Laura will you please stand up.”

Oh, at that moment did I miss my mom, but as I slowly stood up in the room full of people I love, I was overcome when they started clapping. They were clapping for my mom because she had demonstrated faith and friendship. She supported Marsha, encouraged her, believed that there were others who someday, might benefit from a writing group for Mormon women. Because of Marsha, my mom had another writer to turn to, to receive feedback and encouragement. Marsha played a huge role for my mom. My mom recently released the 15th Anniversary Edition of The Castaways: Real-life Accounts of Aborted Souls.

My mom would have been thrilled to see Marsha honored, and humbled to be recognized as one of the founding members. Peggy Shumway was also in attendance and the same applause and appreciation was shared for her. Thank you, Peggy.

Wow, well that was amazing. A room of people, the applause, feeling my mom's love, I mean, how many special opportunities can a girl have in a day. I was set. I'd probably used all my perfect moments for a while. Maybe I'd have to get a traffic ticket on the way home to make up for it.

My mom and dad on one of their days off, in front of the building where The Da Vinci Code was filmed.

Afterwards, I did meet with that publisher. She expressed interest in my manuscript Starving Girl, “This is something I’d be interested in acquiring,” she said and asked if I’d email it to her.

For all the novels I’ve written, all the years I’ve stayed up night after night writing, this was the moment. Finally, someone interested in reading, even publishing what I’ve written, but Starving Girl is my story. It’s my memoir. I need to maintain all the rights, but what beautiful validation that it’s worthy of a publishing contract.

Well, it was almost too much. Was I going to grow wings too? I mean, I was just a girl, but it looked like about every positive experience that could happen to me had happened. After all of this, I didn't deserve a birthday present or Christmas present, like ever!

The conference was a busy time and later I met James A. Owen, Michelle Wilson, Janette Rallison and J. Scott Savage. There classes were amazing. If you’re interested in joining ANWA, here’s thelink.

Starving Girl is in the last stages of review and formatting on Amazon’s CreateSpace.

Here's the cover we are working on.

I’ve had the best team; two wonderful editors, BETA readers, cover design, layout, book formatting, proofreaders, technical support—seriously, this is so intense. This is the moment. With four unpublished YA novels under my belt and 7 years of blogging, I’m so thankful I kept up with writing, even when I felt discouraged. If it was all for me to be prepared to write Starving Girl, it was worth it. I’ll post a link as soon as everything is up on Amazon and Kindle. Celebrating with the kids this weekend. They have been so supportive. I could have never written this book without them.

What is My Dear Trash?

After I was sexually abused, I felt like trash. Through God's love, I was able to find my worth again. My Dear Trash is about finding value where others may not see it, in ourselves, in our world, in our unborn and in our relationships and with God.

View the book trailer for my memoir Starving Girl by clicking on the image below.